


Amongst the Stars

by MidnightEmber



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightEmber/pseuds/MidnightEmber
Summary: As Viserys Targaryen lies at the feet of Khal Drogo, gold pouring over silver hair, he understands the truth of the term fire can not kill a dragon for he would rise again.





	1. Chapter 1

Viserys panicked. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Khal Drogo melting gold in a pot. The giant of a man radiated purpose. Truth be told, Viserys didn’t know much about his brother-in-law apart from the fact he was strong, fierce, and determined to claim anything he desired. This determination though was currently aimed at Viserys and his approaching death.

He didn’t know where threatening his sister and the unborn child would get him. Drinking too much, he’d stumbled into the celebration. No one had invited him. They hadn’t bothered. Viserys Targaryen, though related to their Khalessi, wasn’t of any interest to their tribe. But seeing her present amongst a foreign people, being accepted even though from a different land, brought bitterness to the surface he hadn’t dealt with in a long time. He’d lashed out and now he was paying the price.

As much as his sister would like, he couldn’t remain the clueless and insolent Beggar King when faced with this situation. He knew what Khal Drogo intended to do with the pot. He knew the Khal planned on granting him his wish of a golden crown only it wouldn’t be the crown he desired. This crown he was not meant to survive.

He screamed for his sister. Begged her to move and stop her Horse Lord husband from killing the only family she’d had as a child. She didn’t move. There was a stillness to her he didn’t recognize. Daenerys stood confident and proud. She stood, not like a dragon, but like a horse judging its new rider. This life had changed her. It had changed them both. Daenerys stood surrounded by people who chanted her name. Viserys knelt in the dirt.

It shouldn’t have been this way. He had been promised warriors who would aid in taking back his kingdom. All he had to offer was his sister and he’d gladly handed her over for the chance to return home. People had promised he would sit the Iron Throne like his father had done that he would rule the Seven Kingdoms as his family had done for generations.

His dreams were tumbling down around him. He had nothing else to give nothing left to offer. Years spent on the streets begging for food to keep his sister healthy now seemed wasted. He had led his entire life to keep Daenerys safe and protected only for her to bring his death. It shouldn’t have been this way. They were meant to go home but he had nothing left. Now it would seem even his life was forfeit.

Viserys didn’t hear the words Khal Drogo spoke to him as he lifted the pot above Visery’s head. He was too busy screaming at his sister to intervene. This was not how he wanted to have lived his life. This wasn’t how it was meant to end.

Her violet eyes stared blankly at him. She barely breathed as she waited for his death. Viserys felt close to tears. His sister wanted him dead. His sister was waiting for his death to confirm some thought tucked away in her head.

Heat licked at Viserys as molten gold poured over his eyes and obstructing his view. He wasn’t certain if he’d stopped screaming for his sister in those moments. The heat bathed him and he jerked trying to free himself. There was no escape though. The gold dripped from his head rapidly cooling and creating a mask to hide from the world.

The weight of the gold caused his body to slump forward, his head meeting the dirt with a solid thump. His vision blurred. His body sagged. Sounds bounced around his head as the gold bounced along the rocks on the ground. Skin tore as his clothes were shredded by the debris adding yet warmth to his body. Ankles were finally free from their tugging and hit the ground hard as they were dropped. Viserys didn’t offer a sound as the heat of the evening encompassed his body.

Peeking through the golden crown, there was nothing but darkness stretching across his vision. Bright lights blinked down at him. Stars, Viserys recalled as he grew weary, and for once he wished nothing more than to join them.

x-x-x-x-x

Blue sky greeted violet eyes as Viserys woke. The rising heat of the day scorched the crown still covering his skull yet he didn’t move. Shock coursed through his body. Agony radiated from his shredded back and the surface beneath him felt like pins. Yet he was alive and he didn’t know why.

At first he hadn’t been certain he’d lived through his crowning but the golden crown still encompassing his skull weighed him down. He felt the remnants of pain from his journey across the ground. His muscles ached, his head felt like it wanted to split in two. There was nothing that felt remotely normal about his body. He had survived his ordeal however and he didn’t know why because he certainly didn’t deserve it.

The Dothraki people had no reason to look at him in a favourable way. Regardless of how much he had learnt about the Dothraki people in preparation for the union he hadn’t bothered to use any of his knowledge to aid his sister or attempt to befriend the people. He’d spent the time sulking like he was five and Rhaegar wouldn’t teach him to handle a sword. The madness which his father had released upon the Seven Kingdoms had been exposed to the Dothraki people through him.

Viserys had become something he’d feared in his father. The Mad King hadn’t just terrorized the people but also his family. Somewhere along the way Viserys had done the same. There was little wonder why his sister wanted nothing to do with him, why she had done nothing but watch as her husband poured gold over his head. No one wanted to be near a person drenched in madness.

Yet his past actions only brought more questions. He didn’t feel like the lunatic he’d been before. His thoughts were clear. He didn’t feel the need to rush towards the Seven Kingdoms with an army he barely knew. There was nothing about his sister which enraged him either. Certainly he didn’t blame her for choosing the husband who protected her from everyone. But she had given up hope that Viserys would stop being a tyrant. She hadn’t tried to aid him. Instead she had watched as Drogo had offered a killing blow.

It was in this moment that something must have changed. The gold had offered Viserys a fresh start and he had a feeling there was a hint within the phrase associated with their family. Fire cannot kill a dragon. Viserys had always been taught that the phrase was related to the dragons they helped birth. Dragons were born in the flames, they breathed fire; they were fire and magic and couldn’t be slain with either. As such, the Targaryens picked up the words Fire and Blood.

There were no mentions of a Targaryen being reborn in flame. Through all of the stories the family had carried through the ages, not one mentioned a Targaryen without a dragon. The dragons seemed to be the main focus of the story leaving the Targaryens to be accessories in their grand adventures and Viserys wondered perhaps if this wasn’t done on purpose.

As far as Viserys knew, he was the only one in the past few generations to be touched by flames the way dragons were born. His father had died with a sword in his back watching as people burned. Rhaegar had died on the battlefield surrounded by his men but lusting after a woman he couldn’t have. Neither had been killed by fire. Viserys hadn’t truly been touched by the flames but the molten gold had burnt as fire pouring over his head. Much like a dragon, Viserys Targaryen had been born from flame.

Viserys rolled onto his side trying to get relief for his back. The heat sweltered inside the crown but it was his back which truly caused him pain. They had left him on the dirt, an offering for the vultures, and in both cultures this was a huge insult. They hadn’t sought to respect what they believed to be his deceased body but instead only sought to further separate him from the royalty of his bloodline.

Truly, he didn’t deserve such a fine fate as to be respected in a burial by fire. What he had brought upon the Dothraki people couldn’t be healed by his death alone. Even now, through the holes in his crown, he could see a kart sitting beside him adding yet another insult. A sword pocked from the back of the cart. Viserys huffed laughing; they hadn’t even thought his belongings were worthy enough to keep with them for trade.

He shivered, suppressing the urge to allow his emotions to surface. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. Rhaegar would have picked himself up, armed with a sword, and charged after those who offered him such a grand insult. He hadn’t been much good with a sword even as he asked Jamie Lannister to teach him when his brother was away. Jamie had always laughed at his attempts pointing him towards other fields of honour. Viserys had kept the sword Jamie had given him though so his father wouldn’t question why he didn’t have one.

Swallowing back memories, Viserys rolled onto his front and pushed himself up onto his knees. The crown weighed greatly upon him. Reaching up, he prodded the edges of his crown feeling away along the edge which pooled around his chin and up along the front of his face.

The gold hadn’t set perfectly. It was meant to be formed into small, strong shapes and not into curves over somebody’s head. There were areas where the gold was thick closer to the bottom of his chin and areas on the top of his head which were thin. Holes dotted the region, likely where pieces had fallen off as he’d been dragged along the ground.

Taking a breath, Viserys placed his hands on either side of his head fingers facing towards the sky. Slowly he pushed inward pressing the gold further against his skull. He felt nothing but a light pressure and then the gold beneath his fingertips broke raining gold before his eyes. They fell like stars streaking across the sky each bringing a different light.

Standing, Viserys marvelled at the wasteland before him. The vast land stretched across the horizon with barely any rise and fall. There were a few trees but most of the area was dirt and bush, a dry land with very little water, and he had no idea which direction he’d been dumped at. They hadn’t bothered to leave him in their precious city. Instead they had taken the time to gather his belongings place them in a cart and drag them both out into the wilderness.

In the cart, his meagre belongings hadn’t been touched. No one had travelled by him and decided to loot the poor dead man on the road. Viserys was thankful for this. He didn’t have food but he had his sword and his coat. He had his bag which contained a few of his more sentimental belongings and a few of the books he had bothered to bring with him. Buried beneath all of this were the objects of value he could use to barter his way towards any location he desired.

Gathering his belongings he stared at the cart trying to decide what to do with the object. He had to admit it was well made. The Dothraki people his sister had married into certainly knew how to create useful objects. However, even if it were worth a small fortune to people he didn’t have anything to move it with.

“You seem lost.”

Viserys startled, hand jumping to the hilt of his sword as he turned. A person of Dothraki descent stood before him holding the reigns of a horse. Behind the horse were bags of what appeared to be trade goods. Yet not another person was in sight. The Dothraki didn’t move except to look between Viserys and his horseless cart.

Viserys frowned, speaking slowly he replied. “I seem alone and insane.”

He couldn’t help but add the last part. Standing in the middle of nowhere with his belongings and a cart couldn’t have looked any better than threatening an unborn child for the chance to wear a rule a kingdom he hadn’t set foot on since he was a child.

The Dothraki laughed and said words much too quickly for Viserys to understand.

“You speak Dothraki?” the man finally said.

Viserys nodded. “I learnt it to gain an understanding of the people I travelled with. I didn’t use it though.”

Brown eyes narrowed upon him sizing him up. “You were sneaky?”

It took Viserys sometime before he could recognize what the Dothraki was implying. Viserys had indeed devised a plan upon learning the language. He hadn’t bothered to speak a word of it while he was present only listening to what the people spoke of. This he wouldn’t deny.

“Yes, but as you can see it didn’t do much good.”

The Dothraki nodded not bothering to further question Viserys’ misfortune. “Why did you want to understand the people?”

Viserys truly didn’t want to answer this man’s questions. However he was unlikely to wander this wasteland and come across another person willing to approach a pale man they’d never seen before. He was a foreigner in their land and he hadn’t endeared himself to many people. This man was all he could pin his hope on.

“I had a… friend who was joining their people. She didn’t know anything about them. I learnt; I need to make sure they were people I could place my faith in. I didn’t offer her advice though and I didn’t offer them my faith in return. I only sought my own gain.”

The brutal honesty of the words had Viserys shivering. Admitting the truth, especially to oneself, was never an easy task. These had been the first clear and honest words he’d spoken in a long time. It felt relieving to offer such a freedom to a stranger.

“You were left here?” the Dothraki questioned.

“They thought I was dead.”

Yet again he spoke a simple truth. One, however, in which Viserys could only count his blessings. Thinking he was dead, they had left his carcass on the side of a road, his belongings laid out in a simple cart. He dreaded to think what would have happened if he had been discovered alive whilst still in the Dothraki camp. It couldn’t have been more humiliating or torturous than having one’s loved one watch eager as you died.

The Dothraki gestured towards him. “Is that how you lost your hair?”

“What?”

Disbelief crossed his face. Viserys reached up and came in contact not with silver locks but with a smooth scalp. His hair hadn’t survived the crowning. Yet it was possibly another bonus. It was a rarity in the Seven Kingdoms to have such fine hair. Amongst the Dothraki, there were only two such people and they weren’t difficult to miss.

Should he dress accordingly, not many people would recognize him as Viserys Targaryen. They would just see a traveller, another beggar, who worked for any money he could find. It wouldn’t be what he desired after years of begging to keep his life together. He was alive and he wasn’t about to waste it complaining like a prince.

“Could you lead me to a village?” Viserys questioned.

It wouldn’t take much to set up his life for a few months within the Dothraki people. Viserys knew not all of them moved around as freely as the Khal’s. Most of the Dothraki people worked like farmers back in the Seven Kingdoms. They held land and they only moved to new ground when their current location couldn’t offer them any more sustenance. He would be able to regain his bearing and his plans with a roof over his head even if it was simply a tent.

“I will help you but only if you offer trade.”

Both looked at Viserys’ meagre belongings. Truly there was only one thing that would interest the man and appeal to Viserys’ nature.

“You could have the cart for trade.” Viserys offered. “I don’t need it and I doubt the people I was with will return for it.”

Even if they did return for the cart or to look at the body of the once Cart King, they wouldn’t find what they were expecting. Anyone could have made off with the cart. It wasn’t like they had left Viserys with the means to take it with him. They would believe someone else had taken it and since they were all converged under the wonderful grandeur of his soon to be nephew they wouldn’t retaliate. It would be an inconvenience at best.

The Dothraki looked at the cart noting the detail and craftsmanship. Viserys could tell it was good work but he wouldn’t be able to tell the man what it was for or what it would be worth. If the man found any use for it, only he would be able to tell and if he didn’t well Viserys had no use for it anyway.

Dark eyes searched the cart, the man taking long strides up and down the cart. He searched the sturdiness of the cart and the structure beneath. The wheels were prodded and the seat tested. The horse even gave a toss of his head in agreement for what the Dothraki thought.

“Agreed, help me with the horse.”

Viserys aided the Dothraki wherever the man pointed.

“I am Viserys.” He offered.

Viserys knew offering his name could have disastrous consequences. He hadn’t desired to allow anyone to know who he was but he couldn’t step into this new life and allow the people he would be introduced to take a risk in offering him comfort. He wanted to do better by the people of this land. After this he would keep a lower profile but until then he would allow these people knowledge of who they were entrusting their faith.

“That is not a common name here.” The Dothraki commented.

The look the man gave Viserys said it all. He knew exactly who Viserys was and he didn’t plan on saying a word. He wasn’t even going to acknowledge it. Hope sparked in Viserys’ heart for the first time since his mother died.

“It’s not a common name where I was born either.” He replied.

Together, and with much instruction on the Dothraki’s part, they cleared the cart and gathered Viserys’ belongings securely. The horse had also been secured to the cart and was ready to start carrying the load in whatever direction the man urged. At the man’s behest, Viserys sat next to him at the front of the cart. Viserys knew this was an acceptance of a chance within and didn’t complain.

x-x-x-x-x

The village was not the see of tents Viserys had imagined. Instead huts were strewn about with streets carving ways between sets of buildings. It reminded him of a few of the villages he had seen as he’d travelled to watch as his brother fought in tourneys. They were rough and didn’t have windows or doors but they were enough to keep the warmth of the day from overwhelming the people.

Viserys could hear the ocean nearby, could smell the salty tang. It brought back so many memories yet none which he could say truly he desired to recall. Every one of them led to this moment and he couldn’t afford to think on the past in this instant.

The cart drew attention. People they passed waited for them to pass before following behind at a sedate pace. Viserys tensed. He knew the people were following for a reason. His status as their Khalessi’s brother would have been broadcast around but he didn’t believe they would truly ignore this upon their first meeting.

“You should relax,” the Dothraki suggested, “They do not plan to harm you.”

Viserys didn’t feel relieved to hear this information. If anything it was only more cause for concern. They wanted to meet him which meant the man beside him hadn’t stumbled across him by accident. These people all belonging to the Dothraki had sought him out. They wanted something from him and he hadn’t a clue to what that might be.

As they reached the market stalls amongst the village every person had gathered around them. Children stared at him with wide eyes while the adults watched him with caution. They didn’t hold terror in their faces or disgust like those who had surrounded themselves with Daenerys. These people knew exactly who he was and yet they didn’t share the same sentiments.

The Dothraki man beside him ushered him from the cart and for once Viserys held the attention of a group of people who didn’t hold any distaste for his previous actions. The group gathered was quiet as they waited. Viserys stood tall as he would when addressing his people of the Seven Kingdom should he ever return. He was determined this time to act as a Prince should and make the Targaryen name burn into the minds of those who approached.

“My name is Viserys Targaryen. I am brother to Daenerys Targaryen, your Khaleesi.” Viserys introduced.  “Throughout my time spent on your lands I have not been the kindest man. I have not been the bravest man or the smartest man. I have won no wars or stepped into battle and it took me to step close to death to realize my mistakes.”

These were not the words spoken by a Dothraki. Viserys could tell the people were listening but his speech wasn’t highly inspiring. He didn’t have anything to be proud of where they placed their pride. His hair lacked braids when he still had hair. Though he still carried the weapon, he was abysmal with a sword. The best he could do was ride a horse with ease.

Nor did they have no reason to trust what he was saying. Regardless of the fact they lived apart from the hoard of roaming Dothraki people, they still had contact with Khal Drogo and his people. They had heard all of the stories surrounding him why would they receive him any differently than Khal Drogo and his people?

“If you do not want me here, I will understand. You can tell me to leave and I will not return, I will not ask for you to provide me with anything as I leave. I don’t have anything to offer you and I don’t believe Khal Drogo would be pleased at finding me here amongst you. Should you choose to allow me to stay I will offer my aid in whatever way you need for as long as I am present.”

Viserys felt this was a weak agreement. He truly had nothing to offer them. He was not the warrior they desired. Yet as an aged man stepped forward, his hair braided and lengthy, Viserys startled. He’d never seen such an aged man amongst those travelling with the Khal.

“You shall learn to be a dragon as your sister has learnt to be a horse.”

The people murmured in agreement smiling at Viserys. As he viewed the crowd he didn’t find one person who seemed disgruntled at this arrangement. Everyone stood in encouragement around Viserys much like when his sister had finished tearing at the heart of a horse and named her son. These people didn’t quite worship him but they saw potential in him they desired to feed and fuel. They didn’t want another horse warlord. They wanted a dragon.

Viserys smiled back at the people surrounding him inviting them to approach and speak. Daenerys had desired to know whether he was a dragon. She would never find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Life in a Dothraki village was nothing as Viserys had been led to believe. Of course, when your only knowledge of Dothraki life came from roaming with the hoard, it was easy to see where one might have a misplaced sense of culture.

Essentially, the village wasn’t all too different from his life in the jewelled city of Pentos. Certainly, there weren’t any high lords and ladies wandering the streets in their finery and trailing a contingent of servants to do their bidding. Nor, were there any vibrantly coloured garments or trades in silver and gold. Every day, Viserys was surrounded by sand, dirt, and animal hide. However, their lifestyle was calming in a way the hoard never achieved.

There were no tents to set up during the evening. Instead, these Dothraki built homes made from mud, stone, and wood, leaving each building unique in design. Yet, there was plenty of room to manoeuvre horses and carts down the streets towards the market place in the centre of town.

Merchants from nearby cities, villages, and peasants, brought forth wares leaving the market streets filled with familiar aromas Viserys knew as a child, not only from Pentos but also from Westeros. Pastries from the streets Pentos Daeneyrs enjoyed, perfumes his mother wore, and wines Rhaegar once favoured, all accumulated in the market place causing a strong pang of nostalgia. Yet, the nostalgia wasn’t enough for a desire to return to Westeros.

Returning to Westeros at this time would mean walking in unprepared. Certainly, Viserys held the bloodline of the Targaryen Dynasty, however, the past few rulers left much to be desired. The Mad King preferred to kill his citizens rather than care for their wellbeing and before that, Viserys’ Grandfather, preferred for his Council to rule the land while he relaxed within the gardens.

Viserys’ attempts to prove his worth as King and restore his family to the throne resulted in the family madness taking control. Having to constantly beg throughout Essos to keep himself and his sister alive, left him bitter and focused on obtaining an army in any means necessary to kill the usurper, Robert Baratheon. He’d spent so much time dwelling on the past nothing else had mattered, not even his sister.

Yet, it was his sister who had freed his mind from the madness. The golden crown her husband had bestowed upon him might have freed his mind but there was much room for improvement before he stepped foot on Westerosi soil.

The people of Westeros had suffered too much under the rule of previous Targaryens. Viserys was determined to become a dragon the people could trust to put them before the gold of the royalty. But first, he need to learn, he needed to be skilled in all areas or at least have people he could trust, so he could make adequate decisions to benefit all his people.

Thankfully, the people supporting him currently knew he didn’t have anything to give them in return for their aid only whatever Visyers offered, whether that be simply carrying items or aiding in the market place. VIserys did what he could and when he wasn’t aiding the people, he was learning weapon skills.

Marro, the Dothraki who had discovered him by his cart after the crowning, took it upon himself to introduce Viserys to varying weapons masters before any other skill. Mastery of a weapon, Marro explained, needed to come before all else as both cultures respected a man, especially a royal, who could utilize a weapon in battle. However, with his first lesson, Viserys learnt very quickly he was useless with a sword.

“You are Westerosi, how have you never learnt to use a sword?” Marro questioned, as he watched Viserys poorly parry another attack.

Viserys slumped, exhausted as the sword master stepped away. “I was young when I moved to Dragonstone and not much older when we fled to Essos. Rhaegar was the warrior, yet, I wanted to be so much like him I attempted to pick up a sword at a young age. A young King’s Guard caught me dragging the sword towards the courtyard and directed me towards a wooden training sword.”

“I must have been horrible even then though,” Viserys laughed, “As soon as the guard saw me with the wooden sword, he directed me towards the bow.”

“You chose not to attempt the bow?” Marro questioned.

“I was a child and Rhaegar was my idol. If Rhaegar could use a sword I believed when I was grown I could also learn, especially if he taught me. He died, and I spent my childhood idolizing what I remembered him to be. Obviously, though, the sword is not for me.”

Viserys glanced down towards the sword he carried. The detail on the hilt was decorated with several dragons breathing fire, their eyes bejewelled with purple gems. Sheathing the sword, Viserys returned the sword to his hip, accustomed to carrying the weight.

Marro waved the sword master away, “You plan to keep the sword?”

“This sword belonged to Rhaegar, it was the only item the guards returned when they delivered the news of his death.”

Marro didn’t question it further, instead, he waved Viserys away. “Enjoy the afternoon and do as you please. I’ll find someone else for tomorrow.”

Viserys didn’t argue. He knew spending his days attempting to master the sword would waste his time and the time of the master. At least attempting a new mastery wouldn’t waste everyone’s time.

Wandering, Viserys found himself aiding several people throughout the marketplace and streets. He found himself aiding several men unload crates of fruit and vegetables harvest locally from other Dothraki; a woman required his help to fold silks for market the following day; children laughed with Viserys as they asked him to play a few games.

With every good deed done, Viserys felt more at ease. There was no pressure to be focused on reclaiming the Iron Throne. He didn’t need to hold himself above everyone else or standby unable to do something as the lower class suffered. If anything, being able to do whatever he wanted allowed Viserys to discover more about himself.

Everything Viserys accomplished in the village grew his personality from the obsessive, control freak from before his crowning into a leader Rhaegar would have been proud to call his brother. Living a life of luxury didn’t seem to be as important when the people could easily starve for his gold.

Yet, even if Viserys admired the way the Dothraki led their lives, it would never be applicable to Westeros. The two cultures held different values on worth, life, and death and should Viserys try to change anything drastically, the Lords and Ladies of Westeros would plan to dethrone him as they had done his father and entire family. To improve the lives of the commoners within Westeros, Viserys would need to be smart and not anger those who profited from the poor.

Plans were beginning to form, though they were slow going and without any reinforcements, however, Viserys was determined to do right by the people.

Returning to his room for the evening, located in a mud and stone house belonging to Marro, Viserys placed Rhaegar’s sword by his bedside, near the remainder of his belongings, meagre that they were. Looking at the dragons, Viserys swore that the fire and blood his family had become known for would only be directed at his enemies. The people would always have his protection.

x-x-x-x-x

The following day, Viserys woke early, nervous for today’s training session. The bow had not been a weapon he’d been truly interested in touching even as a child. Jaime Lannister had pushed him to try the bow after a debacle with the sword, but he’d thrown the bow to the ground and demanded to be treated like Rhaegar. After a while, however, Jaime coaxed him into taking a few shots, he had been far more patient with him than Viserys had deserved.

Despite this, Viserys knew his few attempts at a bow would be nothing compared to the years the Dothraki had spent learning to control their bow to hunt. He’d seen several youths being taught the bow out in a field, their concentration was inspiring and yet how they moved their mastery of the bow and combined it with riding even more so.

These Dothraki youths, who made wielding a bow on horseback look easy, were training with the aspiration to become Blood Riders. They’d spent many years perfecting this art. How was Viserys meant to learn this art?

Viserys sighed, feeling the confidence seep out of his mind. He’d never compare to Rhaegar. No matter how much practice he placed into sword practice he couldn’t match Rhaegar’s effortless wield. It would be the same with the bow, Viserys feared.

His hesitancy and lack of confidence in this simple task felt unworthy of the makings of a king. After all, he’d never been born to be king. His father had hoped for a girl to wed Rhaegar and keep the bloodline pure. Instead, all they’d received was a spare heir to the throne and no one to wed Rhaegar.

Given this, Visery’s lessons had revolved around the ruling of Dragonstone, not the ruling of Seven Kingdoms. None of his teachings had ever prepared him for a war, for the death of his family, or for the political madness stirred to keep both him and his sister alive. He had muddled through those situations and still managed to live despite what others desired. All he had to do was keep moving forward.

Picking up Rhaegar’s sword, Viserys tied it around his waste as a reminder. He would not dwell so much on the past. Those mistakes might have brought him here, but they wouldn’t be repeated. His lack of confidence would be quenched by his determination if nothing else. Though he may not have been raised to be king, Viserys would learn, but first he needed to face the bow.

Taking a fortifying breath, Viserys left his room and made his way through the market place aiding those who asked as he moved closer to the fields. Every task relaxed and reassured his decision. If the Dothraki people, a people whom he’d been horrendously abusive towards in the past, could accept the way he improved himself daily, then Viserys felt all his steps forward were worth their weight in gold.

Marro and the bow master greeted him as he approached. There was a single generalized bow with a quiver of arrows at some distance from a target. The target was of a different quality and material to those he’d used at King’s Landing which settled his nerves.

“Are you ready for something new?” Marro questioned, noting his nerves.

“I can hardly be any worse at this than I was with the sword.” Viserys remarked.

The master didn’t even bother responding instead handing him the bow and an arrow and gesturing him forwards. They spent some time relearning stance, and how to hold the bow and draw the arrow. The similar motions comforted Viserys before he took his first shot.

The arrow flew but fell to the left. Viserys didn’t bother to hide his disappointment but notched another arrow. His second and third arrows didn’t fare much better either, but he kept trying until nothing remained of the entire quiver. One arrow had managed to make it on the target.

“Your form is a little unsteady, but this shows more promise than the sword.”

Marro’s words had Viserys standing a little straighter. He’d managed to hit the target only once but if this was a better attempt than the sword he would continue with the practice even if he felt little improvement.

“How did you feel holding the bow?” the master questioned.

Viserys tightened his grip on the bow.

“It’s fairly comfortable compared to the sword. Lightweight, but the greatest difference I find is my focus. I’m not worrying over parrying every move my opponent makes. All I need to do is concentrate and refine my aim.”

The master nodded, “Be here every morning, early, and we will continue your training.”

With that said, the man strode off in the direction of several young Dothraki training with the bow and arrow. Viserys returned the bow and offered Marro a small smile. The older Dothraki clapped his back in a warm, friendly gesture.

“We will make a Dragon King of you yet.”

Viserys’ smile only widened.

x-x-x-x-x

Training with the bow for a turn of the moon, Viserys had vastly improved under the tutelage of the Dothraki. Every day, he spent time practicing his stance, his aim, and his muscle memory until he could accurately hit a moving target. He was no where near as practiced as the Dothraki who wielded a bow on horseback but once he was sufficiently prepared who would lead an army on horseback with his chosen weapon.

“You come out here now to practice even without a teacher?” Marro questioned, as he walked up to Viserys.

“Yes, I practice as much as my body allows. I am capable of learning facts quickly, but the bow takes practice and I need all the practice I can afford.”

The sun had fallen and left the sky filled with orange and red hues causing the desert to appear angry. It wasn’t ideal conditions for shooting but Viserys wanted to be capable with a bow in any situation.

Marro searched Viserys’ face for a time before nodding. “Well, enough for today, come, we have a gift for you.”

Viserys agreed, returning the bow and joining Marro on his walk back towards the market. His curiosity rose when he realized everyone had gathered for the evening meal and a box was near the centre. Casting a questioning look towards Marro, the man replied,

“Everyone wanted to see your reaction when they realized what we were gifting to you.”

An elderly woman motioned for him to step towards the seat laid out near the box. The box was quite large and well hidden to keep the contents of the box secure from his gaze. Viserys could only imagine what was inside. Yet the first gift didn’t come from within the box but by Marro’s hand.

A bow, silver and delicate in appearance, was laid into his hands. Decorated with purple eyed dragons, the bow could only have been crafted for a Targaryen. The intricately crafted bow felt lightweight in his hands and nothing like the bow he’d been practicing on. It felt natural within his hand and Viserys could quite easily carry this weapon around unlike that of the sword.

Marro, watching as Viserys weighed the bow in hand, said, “The bows are different weights, but the change will do you some good and the imagery will reflect well on your House.”

“Where did you find this?” Viserys questioned, eyes roving over the bow.

“Sometimes, Dothraki travel far. A few went further than normal into Old Valeria after Khal Drogo married your sister. Ruins hold many ghosts, but ruins also hold many items. Dothraki gathered these items and bought them back. With your appearance, however, we chose to keep them for you.”

“It would have been a huge benefit for you to keep them for Daeneyrs. She would have loved to own more items from our family.”

“Perhaps,” Marro agreed, “but Khaleesi is becoming a horse, you are becoming a dragon.”

Viserys nodded, carefully placing the bow down by his side.

The box, placed before him by two large Dothraki, was still covered, making Viserys nervous about what was inside. The plain wooden box allowed for the Dothraki to hide the loot they often discovered so their enemies and other Dothraki couldn’t see their loot. The lid easily knocked over to reveal the treasure inside.

Children gathered around him, their curiosity and excitement obvious.

Inside, there were numerous small trinkets with several dragons engraved on each piece. A few pins, hair pieces, and brooches were scattered throughout the box, along with a mirror, a dagger, and several other items all covered in dragons. Viserys didn’t know what he would do with these items due to many of them being more feminine, however, he appreciated them nevertheless. Especially, when they reminded him of his mother.

Yet, what drew his attention were the dragon eggs nestled amongst the items. After having witnessed Daeneyrs being gifted three eggs by Illyrio, he’d felt nothing but jealousy curl in his stomach. Illyrio would pay for that insult later, of course, but Viserys had wanted nothing but to sell the eggs for money to barter for ships. It would have been a great travesty to sell the eggs but at least he knew better now.

Two eggs, one in blue and the other a purple close to a Targaryen’s eyes, were anything but the fossilized eggs Illyrio had promised Daeneyrs. Within was the potential for living, breathing, dragons. All that was required to bring life to these eggs, Viserys already had access to. He needed to consider the repercussions of his actions though, should he attempt to bring them to life. Dragons hadn’t been seen in the skies for many decades and with their return would be a lot of fear and uncertainty.

“What do you know about how dragons came to this land?” Viserys questioned the people, as the children watched in awe as the eggs were brought out of the box.

The words caused the adults to fall into a hush, their faces considering the turn of events.

An elderly woman was the first to speak up.

“Many people have different beliefs regarding dragons. Many people believe they are nothing more than a myth. Our people believe the dragons came to this world after the moon cracked open and released hundreds of eggs. They ruled the skies and killed as they pleased.”

Viserys smiled. Never had he heard the origin of dragons from another people. It was a refreshing difference.

“My family have never known a time when we were without dragons except in recent summers. When the Targaryen’s of old travelled to Westeros, escaping the Doom of Valyria, we already had aged dragons to travel. Several of them died during the journey but we continued to hatch new dragons. I do not know of much else before this time, however, so I couldn’t tell you how the dragons came to be within my family. But, they played a significant part in our conquering of Westeros.”

Viserys sighed, “As our time ruling Westeros grew, the dragons began to dwindle. We squandered the gift given to us. We placed our dragons in an almighty cage because the people feared we could no longer control their temperament. The dragons failed to thrive in such an environment. By the time I was born, my family hadn’t hatched any dragons and the last few were so stunted they didn’t live to their first nameday.”

The Dothraki were enthralled by Viserys’ tales of dragons. The knowledge he held would seem to appear only in myth, yet, he spoke so earnestly, he couldn’t have been fabricating any of his words. Only the sound of the crackling fire broke through Viserys’ words.

“Beneath the castle at King’s Landing, however, were the skulls of every dragon my family had lost to time. The ones closest to the door were small, and deformed, barely the size of a dog, but the further in you travelled, the larger they grew. At the very rear of the room, one of the largest dragons’ head remained, Balerion the Black Dread.”

The name still caused the people to shiver within Westeros, some in fear and others in excitement.

“Balerion grew so large it was said his shadow could cover an entire town when he took flight. He alone, destroyed an entire castle within Westeros, and to this day, his name alone is something to be feared even if people no longer believe dragons existed in history.”

The silence settles around the fire as Viserys finishes speaking. So much of the Targaryen history was linked with dragons, and these eggs were all that remained of a once thriving empire. All that remained were two siblings who couldn’t understand one another and constantly fell to the madness.

It was said that their family’s madness could be equated to the flip of a coin but perhaps their madness stemmed more from the failure at maintaining a connection to their dragons. If anything, Viserys felt calmer, now with two eggs in his possession, than he had after his crowning. He could only imagine what would occur should he manage to hatch these eggs.

And he would hatch these eggs… they wouldn’t sit in a chest for his sister to stare at in curiosity and wonder. Their family words were Fire and Blood and with these elements he would bring dragons back into this world. His sister might not want anything to do with their family, but he would revive their heritage and reclaim his place at their ancestral home at the very least. Daeneyrs could remain with her horses if she pleased.

Marro, noticing Viserys intent stare, questioned, “When do you plan to hatch your dragons?”

Viserys caressed the blue egg. “The sooner I hatch my eggs the sooner they can grow. Dragons are rather vulnerable when they are young and without a grown dragon I would be the only one protecting them. Before I leave for Westeros, my dragons need to be capable of protecting themselves. They need to be able to fly.”

“When will the dragons be able to breathe fire? When will you be able to ride one?”

Viserys smiled at the enthusiastic question from the child. Breathing fire and being able to fly were two of the strongest desires when someone thought of dragons. They were, after all, an escape from the real world.

“I’m unsure when they will be able to breathe fire, having never seen a dragon or read this information. Not at first, I expect, but probably before they can fly.”

The children huddled together whispering excitedly, the adults were the only ones with sense to look weary.

“How will you control the dragon when it ages? If they grow so large, what will stop them from eating people if you can’t control it?”

Viserys couldn’t promise the dragons hatched wouldn’t eat people, so instead he spoke, “My family spoke of a bond between dragon and rider. I expect this bond will allow me, not only to communicate with the dragons, but also to control their willingness to eat people they should not. Hopefully, my dragons and I will be long gone before this becomes a problem for your people.”

The elders within the village relaxed upon hearing this. Certainly, they didn’t mind hosting a foreigner for a while but having them remain indefinitely would cause problems especially if they held power which would draw the Khalesar. Viserys’ leaving would be a sad day but it would also be a relief.

“What will you need for these dragons to hatch?” Marro questioned. “If we have everything available then I would suggest we begin tomorrow.”

“Fire and Blood,” Viserys laughed, “We will need a great fire to warm the egg and the blood of a life to reignite the spark.”

“A life for a life,” one of the women muttered, glancing towards the children.

The thought was an obvious one. A human life could be exchanged for a dragon’s hatching. Yet Viserys found this to be distasteful.

“Yes, it would require an exchange of life for my dragons to be born. A human life would be worth a great deal, especially if the person was willing, but it does not need to be human. Any life could be exchanged. It just needs to be living when the fire is started.”

Many of the Dothraki looked determined, they were accustomed to sacrificing animals for food and other rituals, so a ritual using these same elements to hatch a dragon wasn’t something that would sway their minds. They wanted to be part of this; the first hatching of a dragon in decades would allow a certain privilege, even in their world. Their small village would see Viserys return to his home, a dragon in name and in mount.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the fantasynamegenerator to create a Dothraki name for my guy and Marro comes from Marilat which means to construct, and I thought that was a perfect fit for the guy training a dragon.


	3. Chapter 3

A pyre rose high against the setting sun. Dothraki moved around the base, fixing wood, and adding hay to help ignite the fire. The collection of wood and hay, yet to be lit, had taken most of the morning to collect. Certainly, as a farming village, the Dothraki kept a reasonable supply of wood and hay but it wasn’t enough to create a ritual pyre.

Viserys hadn’t asked for any sacrifice to hatch his dragons, human or animal. He hadn’t asked anything of the Dothraki knowing they’d done far more for him than he had returned.

To hatch his dragons, Viserys had originally planned to go on an early morning hunt for a few animals, to use as his sacrifice. He woke early to join the hunt, however, Marro told him the village spoke after he’d left the previous night and he needn’t worry about hunting. Knowing better than to argue, Viserys chose to aid the villagers gathering wood. He’d spent all morning gathering wood and other supplies and now with two dragon’s eggs by his side, Viserys waited for the two sacrifices to be brought out.

Due to the heat this fire would emit, the Dothraki settled themselves around the pyre at a great distance, anticipating the dragons hatching. Their excitable murmuring did nothing to settle Viserys nerves.

Years spent begging for himself and his sister and fighting to keep ahead of the assassins shattered his confidence a little more every time they fled from a location they grew to called home. Viserys tried his hardest to protect them but nothing he did ever worked. From across the sea, their enemies held the resources to continue to send assassins, however, the last of the Targaryens held nothing but their name.

Marrying Daenerys to the Dothraki Warlord brought the knowledge and comfort of an army at their back to protect them from their enemies. The comfort didn’t last. While the Dothraki were invested in his sister, they didn’t care whether Viserys lived or died. Again, he’d attempted to protect them, and while he’d saved his sister he’d lost himself; he also hadn’t discovered a solution to their enemies across the Narrow Sea.

The knowledge that he didn’t have the capacity to protect two Targaryens from their enemies didn’t bolster his confidence in protecting two young dragons from a world terrified by stories of mighty creatures wreaking havoc on harmless villages.

Even if the ritual succeeds, there was still a lot that Viserys didn’t know about dragons and how they were raised and cared for. He knew they would not be able to fly or breathe fire as soon as they hatched, but when would they develop enough to do so? They obviously ate meat, but should it be raw… should it be cooked? Did they need to hunt for their food or could it be provided for?

So many uncertainties and yet Viserys wouldn’t stop.

As soon as Viserys had seen the dragon eggs, he’d been overcome with a certainty, a feeling of pure knowledge he was meant to have these eggs and not the ones belonging to his sister. These two were meant to be his first dragons, the first dragons to be born within the world for decades. When nurtured they would protect him and his descendants for centuries. Viserys’ father might have been the worst of the Targaryen line, but he would restore the family name.

“Everything is nearly ready,” Marro said, startling Viserys out of his thoughts. “Are you prepared for the hatching of your dragons?”

“I’m nervous.” Viserys admitted. “But I’m not willing to back away from this. These dragons are the symbol of my family and if I could protect them then maybe I can protect the people I hope to one day lead.”

Marro clasped his arm, “You have lived in many ways for your youth; rich, poor, with family, with strangers, at home, in a foreign land; you have overcome everything to reach this point and I have confidence you will use your experience to protect and lead your people when you are ready to take your throne.”

Viserys smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

The sun had just disappeared below the skyline leaving the world to be coloured in warm tones, when a Dothraki interrupted, “Marro, we are ready to begin.”

The Dothraki walked away as Viserys and Marro walked over to the pyre. Looking around, Viserys couldn’t see any of the animals the Dothraki usually held. He hadn’t expected there to be horses; Dothraki would never use a horse for a sacrifice given their reverence for the creature. Yet, there were rabbits, goats, and pigs kept around the village as well. None of them had been brought to the pyre.

“Where are the sacrifices?” Viserys asked.

Marro stopped Viserys before he could wander off and search for a sacrifice. “There will be no animal sacrifice.”

Viserys frowned, desperately trying to piece together the words Marro wasn’t speaking.

“Only death can pay for life, and from what you have told me dragons are intelligent creatures. A few animal sacrifices would not be enough to bring these eggs to life, Viserys. You needed a human sacrifice to hatch your dragons.”

Frozen, Viserys looked helplessly between the pyre and Marro, unable to speak. Though he’d been here for such a short amount of time, Viserys felt more at home surrounded by these people than anywhere else and it was all because of Marro. The Dothraki’s generosity when it came to housing Viserys ensured he would approach situations differently than before he’d been reborn in fire.

“I cannot allow my first act as a ruler to be sacrificing my friend, even to bring life to dragons.” Viserys argued.

“You are not sacrificing me, Viserys. I volunteered.”

“Why?!” The demand for answers from Viserys held a pleading tone.

Yet, Marro shook his head, knowing Viserys was pleading for him to change his mind. “I have lived well for my years Viserys. My sons have grown, and my wife has passed. There is not much for an old Dothraki to do, especially when they live and trade with the Lhazareen. Many of us aspire to die in battle and that is our way. I decided against this when I settled with my wife and though I do not regret this, I find myself searching for an honourable way to join her now.”

Viserys thought back to the day Marro found him lying in the desert. All the older Dothraki carried was a small bag and walked with his horse. Never, had Viserys questioned why Marro had been wandering the desert plains and now he knew; Marro had been searching for a way to die with honour... with meaning.

“If this is what you want… if this is what you have agreed upon…”

Viserys voice shook with uncertainty, even as Marro nodded his consent. The villagers remained at a respectable distance, calmly speaking with each other and casually watching the pyre as Viserys and Marro approached.

Now that he was closer, Viserys could see that the pyre had been built specifically with a human sacrifice in mind. Nerves churned in his stomach. Despite his previous mindset, Viserys had never taken a life before. Certainly, he’d been good at threatening people, but he’d never followed through. Now, the reality was setting in and he was about to learn a new life lesson. Sometimes you lost friends, even as you desired to keep them safe.

“Tie me to the post or else I will fight my way free to escape the flames.”

The rope sitting by the pyre seemed to cut into Viserys’ hands every time he tightened it around Marro. Two Dothraki brought forth the dragon eggs without a sound and stood, waiting for Viserys to finish and escort him back to a safe distance.

“It has been a privilege to watch you become a dragon and even more so to know my death will bring your dragons’ to life. Now, light the pyre and wait for it to burn out.”

Viserys shook his head swallowing around the lump in his throat. “No, I will be by your side till the end.”

Marro frowned, “Do not harm yourself at this stage.”

Viserys let out a laugh, breath hitching into a sob. “A dragon cannot be burnt. Your pyre will not harm me.”

With a nod from Marro, the two Dothraki left Viserys a torch and returned to the other villagers. The flame danced close to Viserys’ face and just to prove his point, placed his hand into the fire watching as the heat danced around his hand without any harm.

“Perhaps, Khaleesi was testing you with your golden crown?”

A wry smile crossed Viserys’ face. “No, she wanted me dead. I could tell by the look in her eyes she no longer cared to have me around. She was happy with her warlord husband and their unborn child. Daenerys didn’t need me any longer to keep her safe. As you said, she was becoming a horse, and a horse has no need for a dragon.”

“Then, perhaps, she should have chosen another method?” Marro joked.

“Perhaps,” Viserys agreed.

The dragon eggs had been placed at Marro’s feet within the centre of the pyre. With this design, there would be no escaping the heat of the fire. It would be all encompassing; pain would come hard but the end swift.

Noticing Viserys’ hesitation, Marro smiled, “It has been an honour to see you grow. May you only grow stronger and your dragons grow strong, fierce, and loyal.”

“May you ride with your ancestors.” Viserys replied, dropping the torch into the kindling.

The fire lit with a spark and roared into existence. Being in the centre of the pyre meant the fire consumed the air and left nothing but heat in its wake. It grew unbearable in seconds, leaving Marro fighting against the rope. Viserys could do nothing but wrap his arms around his friend, hugging Marro as close as he physically could while he screamed and cried out in agony, his flesh charring, peeling away with the ferocity of the fire.

The screaming felt as if it continued for hours and yet, Viserys knew it took no time at all. Within the embrace of the pyre, Viserys couldn’t feel the tears as they left his eyes, staring at the burnt corpse of his one friend. Blackened skin peeled from white bone, partially obscured by the flames. Nothing remained recognizable of Marro’s face.

Viserys collapsed to his knees, the ground littered with bones and beads once tied into his friend’s braid and allowed his despairing wail to be consumed by the roar of the fire.

x-x-x-x-x

Two tiny dragons lay curled in Viserys’ arms as the sun rose the next morning; nothing else remained of the pyre. Clothes had taken flame as easily as Viserys’ hair, leaving him as clean as a newborn. Yet, nothing else seemed to matter in the face of two tiny dragons.

Both dragons held silver in their colouring yet in vastly different ways. One dragon held a deep blue as their primary colour, the silver glistening like stars over its scales. The other held silver as its primary colour with purple dancing along the spine and tail. Two dragons born on the same day and yet vastly different in appearance.

Gathering them, Viserys stood and moved towards the waiting Dothraki. They hadn’t fled to the comfort of their beds, instead huddled around small fires waiting for the dawn and the miracle they hoped would come to pass. Viserys wasn’t about to disappoint them after they had provided so much.

Children were the first to rush to greet him, barely containing their excitement and wonder as they saw the small forms within Viserys’ arms.

“It worked!” The children exclaimed.

“They are small.”

“They are small like a newborn,” Viserys agreed, “but soon they will begin to grow like any other infant.”

The dragons welcomed the curiosity of the children only shying away when they reached out to touch. Viserys was merely glad they didn’t lunge to bite.

“When will they breathe fire?!” a young girl demanded causing the adults to startle into laughter.

“Not for many months, I believe. But they will learn.”

“What are their names?”

“The purple dragon shall be Rhaegal, after my brother. The blue will be Marros.”

The naming of the blue dragon didn’t come as a shock to the elder Dothraki, knowing Viserys and Marro’s friendship had been life changing for the royal. Yet, Viserys could see the pride within their eyes for a mere Dothraki to bear the namesake of a newborn dragon.

“They can’t fly…”

Viserys turned to the small child, smiling gently at the disappointment he could see in dark eyes. The children merely watched as the young dragons crawled all over Viserys, not tempted to catch the morning breeze in their wings and glide to another person.

“You wouldn’t expect your baby brother to get up and run around with you, would you?”

The child turned to his mother, looking at his newborn brother swaddled in cloth, and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, it will feel as if no time has passed at all before Rhaegal and Marros are gliding around, and hunting for their meals.”

Cheering, the children separated to chatter at their parents, barely containing their excitement. The village looked to be at peace and yet, there was a sadness tinged in the adults’ smiles, their eyes glancing back to the ashes of the burnt-out pyre with respect.

Viserys turned, watching as the breeze caught the ash and carried it across the Dothraki Sea. “May you ride well, my friend.”

Marros chirped, his tiny head gazing around causing Viserys to laugh.

“Yes, all newborns are hungry. You would be no exception. Let us retire for the day. You may eat, and I will sleep, after all, tomorrow is a new day.”

x-x-x-x-x

The dragons grew at a swift rate, faster than Viserys had anticipated from his reading. From their original size, like that of cats, their appetite to consume cooked meat grew from small cubes to strips of livestock the Dothraki slayed for their evening meals. Within six months, they were the size of large dogs and still content to latch onto Viserys.

Viserys often content himself with his usual routine, trying to keep his mind settled after the death of his friend. At least if he was preoccupied, he wouldn’t spend his time sitting in a room, mourning. Everything, however, had altered slightly with the addition of his dragons.

The morning was spent practicing with the Targaryen bow. Each arrow notched and drawn, flew towards the target with a fluidity Viserys couldn’t hope to achieve with a Dothraki crafted weapon. With every practice his aim improved, to the point he’d slowly begun to practice his handling of the bow on a horse, much to the disgruntlement of his dragons.

Rhaegal and Marros quite enjoyed hanging on Viserys as he rode, their wings extending with feeble attempts to catch the winds. They were continuously distracted, however, their eyes turning to watch the prey they could see in the grass. Occasionally, the dragons would glide from his horse and disappear only to reappear as Viserys’ slowed to wait for them, a small rodent held within their sharp teeth. Slowly, they were learning, and Viserys couldn’t have been prouder.

The afternoons were spent aiding the villagers, a custom Viserys couldn’t help but continue, feeling closer to Marro and enjoying the brilliant smiles on their faces when he stood by their side carrying loads of boxes. While Viserys provided aid, Rhaegal and Marros were content to either lounge in the sun or play with a small ball the children crafted for them. While it was odd seeing such ferocious beasts play with a toy, Viserys savoured it, knowing it would only be a matter of time before they outgrew their fun.

On one of the rare days Viserys ventured with the Dothraki to trade amongst the Lhazareen, his small net of safety and comfort began to crumble. Viserys should have known; nothing good could ever last long especially for a royal.

“Zhavvorsa, there are riders. They belong to the Khalesar and are headed in our direction.”

Viserys looked up to see Qotho, a friend of Marro’s, standing by his side. They had agreed to split up and trade for foods and other materials the village would need. Several others were also nearby and moved to gather by their side.

“How many riders?”

“It would seem to be the entire Khalesar.” A Dothraki mumbled, startling the poor Lhazareen women before them in a rush to get away from the hoard.

It would do little to help. The dust stirred on the horizon signalling the large hoard bearing down upon them. No one would be spared from this attack.

Qotho frowned, “Many know the Khaleesi is close to giving birth. Khal Drogo would not leave Vaes Dothrak until such a time has been and gone. This is Lhazar, the lands of lamb men, and far from Vaes Dothrak, the Khal leads his men this way only when in need for slaves to trade.”

“Something has changed,” Viserys agreed. “There is nothing to be done. We do not know why they are here, and it is too late to attempt to leave. They will recognize other Dothraki and as the larger group, be inclined to dominate. We would be run down. Either way, they will recognize me.”

Viserys’ silvery hair had regrown for the second time in a year, sitting comfortably around his shoulders as it had done before his golden crown. Even if they didn’t know who he was, the resemblance to their Khaleesi would have them questioning his identity.

“I thought I would be across the sea before my sister heard of my resurrection. My plans will have to change.” Viserys lamented.

They could do nothing as Dothraki swarmed amongst the screaming villagers of Lhazar. Very little blood was spilt leading Viserys to believe the Dothraki needed many able bodies to trade as slaves. Given their travel direction, the Dothraki appeared to be headed towards Westeros, only leading Viserys to wonder at the circumstances provoking the Dothraki to cross the sea in attack.

Viserys wouldn’t have to wait long before he received answers, however, as the Dothraki hoard noticed the shock of silvery hair amongst the present Dothraki and Lhazareen. Drawn weapons were pointed in his direction, yet, no one could get close enough to wound as his friends kept a barrier between them.

A Blood Rider Viserys didn’t recognize took one look at their group and uttered one word, “Come.”

The order was firm, leaving their group little chance to disobey. Viserys wasn’t interested in finding out what would happen if he snarked back as he would have previously. He needed to keep a level head to survive this encounter, their curiosity wouldn’t be enough to save him a second time should he prove to be the same brat he’d been before.

Walking towards the location where Khal Drogo had set up a tent for their brief stay in Lhazar, Viserys spotted another group, consisting of huddled women standing nearby. Qotho tensed as he spotted a woman amongst their number, a witch his people were familiar with, and despised. They could do nothing however, the Lhazareen were not a people who accepted their form of violence and currently more benefits were to be had keeping a friendly relationship with them than destroying it by killing a single person.

The men parted just in time for their group to watch as the Khal killed one of his men, Daenerys rushing forward. Clearly, she was still pregnant, the baby bump, visible with her Dothraki style of clothing.

“You are injured.”

Viserys frowned, the injury was a small cut, located on the Khal’s chest. The Dothraki could easily brush of this type of wound, wearing the resulting scar as a badge of honour. Yet, his sister was making a big deal and causing the Dothraki to shift, agitated at her worry over the honour.

“Khaleesi, I can provide a simple poultice that will protect the wound from future infection, should you agree.”

Qotho hissed as the witch spoke, stepping forward. Viserys, however, placed a hand on his friend’s arm before stepping forward and focusing all eyes on his person.

“Mirri Maz Duur has quite the reputation as a poisoner, especially when it comes to Dothraki, I wouldn’t be allowing her to treat your Khal.”

Daenerys turned, disbelief displayed over her features as many of the surrounding Dothraki drew their weapons. Only the Khal’s raised hand stayed their quick attack.

“Brother…” The words came out as little more than a whisper.

“Hello Daenerys, it’s been some time since you left me near death in the middle of nowhere.”

Daenerys bristled in anger, a hand coming to curl protectively around her womb. Viserys ignored her pathetic attempt to protect her child and instead turned to address the Khal.

“Mirri Maz Duur is known by the Dothraki who live nearby. When they sought her out to aid for a woman and recently birthed child, she gave them a potion stating they were to mix small portions in water and consume it until they entire contents were gone. They died before they could finish, poisoned by the very product the witch provided.”

Qotho stepped forward, spitting at her feet. “She shouldn’t be permitted to live.”

Daenerys stepped forward, ready to defend. “You can’t kill her on the words of my brother and those he surrounds himself with, he’s untrustworthy, and will only say what you want to hear.”

Many of the Dothraki weren’t convinced. Their clear disgust for the Lhazareen seemed to overweigh their brief dislike of Viserys.

“You wouldn’t believe my words if I spoke nothing but the truth.” Viserys accused, knowing he would strike true. His sister would never believe his words after the cruelty he had shown. Yet, it wasn’t his sister he needed to convince.

Turning towards the Khal, Viserys spoke. “You don’t need healing for such a wound and would only lead to death should you allow the witch to apply any medicine. However, Mirri Maz Duur’s offence against Qotho and his people still stands, if you hold no grudge against them, allow their people a voice, allow them a chance to decide the fate of the witch.”

Brown eyes stared Viserys down, allowing not a single thought to be voice upon his face. It was the same expression he wore when viewing Daenerys for the first time. Unnerved but refusing to stand down, Viserys stood his ground and waited.

“Agreed.”

Qotho smirked at the witch in victory, all the while watching as she trembled in uncertainty. Surrounded by Dothraki, she wouldn’t be able to flee even if she tried. Her death was guaranteed all they needed to do was decide how she would meet her end.

“Drogo…”

A look was shared between the Khal and his Khaleesi. Daenerys pleading but Drogo unwilling to back down. Eventually, Daenerys turned away from her husband accepting she couldn’t change his mind and turning her gaze towards her brother.

Viserys stood away from his friends, allowing for the Dothraki to speak about their decision in private. Behind him, he could feel many eyes focused on his person. They were curious, however, Viserys wasn’t in the mood to deal with their many questions. They could demand them, but he had a feeling the uncertainty they were feeling towards his resurrection was keeping them at bay for now. Soon he would have no choice but to answer their questions but today would not be that day.

“We have made our decision.”

Khal Drogo nodded, ready to hear their answer. Instead, Qotho turned to Viserys.

“With your permission, Zhavvorsa, we would like to request Rhaegal and Marros handle her death.”

The confusion remained clear on the faces of the Dothraki, not understanding what was being requested. Yet, Viserys couldn’t help but smirk. Qotho had underhandedly pushed him into a situation which would reveal Viserys’ strengths and cause the Dothraki hoard and especially their Khal and Khaleesi to second guess their association with Viserys Targaryen.

Silently, he applauded Qotho’s thinking and accepted their decision. “It will be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qotho: from Qothat, meaning to be loyal.  
> Zhavvorsa: Dothraki for dragon.


	4. Chapter 4

Mirri Maz Durr was taken from the town, dragged by Qotho, hissing and spitting spiteful words, and led towards the grass lands between the Lhazareen town and their small Dothraki village nearby. Viserys followed behind the pair, the group of Dothraki from their village acting as a barrier between Viserys and the Khalasar.

The initial meeting between Viserys and the Khalasar had been a tense affair. Viserys had actively chosen to only address the Khal, ignoring the incredulous looks his sister had sent his way. The conversation between the Khal and Viserys had appeased the man for now but, try as he might, Viserys’ newfound confidence masked the terror he felt facing the man who had given him a golden crown.

A hushed conversation between the Khal and his Khaleesi occasionally reached Viserys from behind, most of which was spoken by Daenerys. Of course, having Viserys return from the dead would suddenly alter everything. He had, after all, committed some atrocious acts. However, he’d changed, and they would need to figure out what that meant for the Khalasar. Once the shock of his sudden revival mellowed, Viserys would need to deal with their decision.

For now, Daenerys questioned her husband’s decision to allow Viserys to deal with the witch. She’d been uncomfortable with knowing the woman she’d saved was capable of being vindictive to begin with, yet, she’d still wished to save the woman. Knowing her revived brother would deal the punishment seemed to irritate her further.

The very brief reply she received from her husband nearly had Viserys faltering mid step.

“The Dothraki chose Zhavvorsa.”

Four short words, but they were enough to send Daenerys questioning her husband further in furious tones, the inclusion of the word Zhavvorsa stoking her anger.

Naming Viserys as a dragon before the Khalasar had granted him status in the eyes of the Dothraki as a foreign ruler, a man capable and strong in his own right and far from the indignation of being a mere Cart King. Of course, not everyone would immediately accept the change, as was the Dothraki way, however, they would not be able to deny him for very long.

“Release her, Qotho,” Viserys requested.

The Khalasar bristled as Qotho did as asked, many voicing their objections to a Dothraki listening and obeying a foreigner. Those that knew Viserys, however, could only smirk in anticipation.

Ignoring the outburst, Viserys stepped forward.

“You are permitted a head start, witch, the Dothraki want you to suffer so there will be a hunt and you will be the prey.”

The witch sneered up at Viserys, spitting at his feet.

“I will not flee from Dothraki. They will easily mount their horses and run me down. I will stand my ground.”

The Dothraki of the Khalasar cheered and hollered, excited to run down this woman who had wronged their brethren. Yet, those knowing Viserys remained silent, smug in their decision to grant Viserys the decision of her death.

“True,” Viserys conceded. “But you will not be running from the Dothraki. You’ll be running from Rhaegal and Marros.”

Summoned by their names, the dragons glide down from nearby rooftops, where they had been lounging in the sun, settling around Viserys with eager chirps and rumbles. Their size wasn’t very intimidating now, but the mere presence of a live dragon was enough to stop everyone in their tracks.

The Khalasar fell silent, uncomprehending at the sight before them.

The witch trembled as the dragons inspected her; their sharp teeth awfully close to her face as they caught her scent. Talons cut her arms as they crawled down from her head, allowing more of her scent to permeate the air, before climbing Viserys to rest at his shoulders.

Viserys smirked down at the witch, her attention caught by the dragons. “Rhaegal and Marros are still small, you see, and they don’t get many opportunities to practise their hunting skills on intelligent beings. Rabbits can only keep them entertained for so long before they become predictable. Hunting a human, on the other hand, will grant them a new experience. So, run, little witch, and prey they learn how to kill you quick, or your death will be slow.”

The mad scramble Mirri Maz Dur did as she began her flight from the dragons sent Qotho and the Dothraki howling in glee. Rhaegal and Marros chirped at Viserys who only shook his head and told them to wait as the stumbling form of the witch grew smaller and smaller until they could no longer see her in the distance.

“Qotho, gather the horses.”

The man smirked and turned to do as requested, the Khal ordering his men to do the same.

So far, the Khalasar had remained silent and allowed their Khal to take the lead on his reappearance, but they would not be satisfied for long especially with the presence of the dragons. They would pay a lot of attention however as their Khal and Khaleesi began to question his continued life and the presence of the dragons.

“Brother… where did you obtain dragons?”

Viserys ignored the Khaleesi, watching as the dragons grew bored and began to tumble around in the grass, impatient to start their hunt but unwilling to leave before Viserys permitted. As the dragons played, Viserys contemplated how to reply without revealing how much he knew about his family past. But eventually he knew vague answers wouldn’t suffice.

“It’s impossible,” Jorah breathed into the silence, “Dragons are a myth; they are stories peasants tell their children at night so they will fear and respect the Targaryen line.”

Still, Viserys refused to comment. What could he say? Dragons weren’t something the peasants respected, and fear… well, how could you fear something you’d never seen before? How could a myth, inspire fear in those that didn’t know the truth? Besides, Viserys knew fear; it was the cold, unforgiving violet eyes of his sister as gold dripped over his head, melting and burning its way down his neck.

“Viserys, answer us.” Daenerys demanded, stepping forward.

Before she could reach him, Rhaegal and Marros, ceased playing. Watchful and tense, they hissed at the Khaleesi until she was forced to step back towards her husband, uncertain how to interact with these creatures. The Khal hadn’t moved watching Viserys rather than the two dragons at his feet, the brown eyed stare piercing and uncomfortable.

“They don’t recognize I’m your sister?” Daenerys whispered, hurt.

For the first time, Viserys chose to answer; not willing to accept their relationship was as it once had been.

“You might have been born a dragon, but your time spent amongst the Dothraki has changed who you are. You are prideful, like a wild horse unwilling to be tamed, eager to toss your head and make demands, even if your herd disagrees.”

The Khalasar huffed, shifting in agreement with Viserys’ words, thinking back to the situation their Khaleesi had placed them in.

She had chosen to protect the women of this weak village, taken them under her protection purely to save their innocent lives. Their Khal had nearly been weakened by one of these women as he agreed to allow his Khaleesi to do as she pleased. She’d seen fit to allow a witch to heal what was nothing more than a scratch on their Khal. Their Khaleesi was only proving she wasn’t worthy of her title or their culture.

Watching as the Khalasar shifted in agreement, Daenerys snapped, “You were the prideful one, always demanding more from me! I was nothing to you except a bargaining chip so you could reclaim the Iron Throne. Even when I was gifted with dragon eggs, you wanted them, believed they were yours by birthright. How are we so different?”

Even knowing his sister was lashing out, she wasn’t incorrect. Viserys past held many mistakes, some he could not make reparations for, others he would not. Yet, how he had treated his sister shamed him. He should have treated her with more respect, cared for her as an elder sibling, much as Rhaegar had done.

Turning towards Daenerys, Viserys replied.

“I died for my sins. The molten liquid of my crown burnt away the rot inside and left what remained. I woke alone, with nothing but the stars and the comfort of a grass field. Marro, a Dothraki, saved me from starvation and isolation. He and their village guided me and granted me strength, wisdom, and the knowledge that should I go on, should I become King, the people would need me to be more than a pompous figure.”

Viserys turned to the Khal, “I have made mistakes in my past; I have insulted your way of life and shown nothing but disgraceful contempt towards your people. With my resurrection I have learnt and chosen to be better and that won’t take away what has been done, but I will not allow my past to define my future.”

“We will talk more after the death of the witch.”

The Khal’s reply came after a short pause, giving Viserys’ hope. If the Khal wanted to speak further, then there was an increased possibility he wouldn’t be immediately killed again for his transgressions against the Dothraki. He’d already paid for the attempt on his unborn nephew, but everything else remained unspoken.

With a nod of acceptance, Viserys turned back towards the Grass Sea, the horses drawing nearer and prepared to ride after the witch; he was unwilling to spend another moment debating with his sister about the past. Dwelling on the past had only allowed Viserys to be caught in the madness his family was famous for. Too long he had spent yearning for a crown he’d never worn and a kingdom he’d seen little of; no, Viserys would not dwell on the past.

The future might hold a crown and a kingdom but Viserys knew he needed to work to earn the trust of the people and not be swayed by selfish endeavours. After all, what was a kingdom, what was a ruler, without the people to serve…

Qotho approached, leading Viserys’ horse as well as his own. Viserys’ horse still held his bow and quiver which he removed and placed on his back. He may not need them as the dragons hunted the witch, but he would be prepared to come to their aid should they require it.

The silver of the bow gleamed in the sun and Viserys knew that Daenerys would spot the Targaryen design. Everything he did would be questioned by his sister but not now… not yet… the Khaleesi would need to wait until Viserys had dealt with the witch.

As soon as Viserys mounted his horse, Rhaegal and Marros leaped from the ground, settling around his shoulders. The horse shifted with the additional weight but didn’t startle, accustomed to the dragons. Rhaegal clambered down onto the saddle, while Marros remained on his shoulders satisfied with his vantage point.

“They will leap onto their prey then?” Qotho questioned, watching as the dragons settled in place.

“They are hunting a new prey; it makes sense to be cautious.” Viserys replied.

The dragons shifted, ready to hunt their prey.

Taking the reins of his horse Viserys warned, “Don’t get too close.”

Qotho nodded, mounting his horse, aware of the damage these tiny dragons could do especially in an unknown situation. Making sure to keep his horse between the Dothraki warlord, his wife and Viserys, Qotho knew he wouldn’t normally be permitted to stand before the warlord. However, he wasn’t part of the Khal’s Khalasar, he followed Viserys and that granted him some leeway in this situation. With his head held high, Qotho differed to Viserys and waited.

Violet eyes scanned the horizon line; nothing but flat grass land swayed before them, yet, the dragons were eager to get started and they would immediately know where to go.

“Marros, Rhaegal, _hunt_.”

Two small heads rose in the air. They’d practiced a few times on rabbits and other small animals; the word hunt in Valyrian being used to allow the dragons to learn that not all prey was necessarily food. Of course, Viserys had also spent a long time trying to discover the right way to teach his dragons.

Dragons were intelligent creatures capable of communicating their desires and pain. However, Viserys couldn’t speak their language and so he’d learned and taught them how to respond in an acceptable manner. However, he didn’t know what would happen once the dragons had their first taste of human or if they would even try to eat Mirri Maz Durr.

Past stories of dragons had them feasting on anything they could find; this usually included cows, horses, and sheep but quite often there were horror stories of dragons eating humans as their riders commanded. Viserys could only hope he’d taught his dragons enough to remain in control because as they grew larger, he would only have less control over their actions.

After a few seconds, Rhaegal and Marros released an eager cry, their heads pointed slightly to the left. Viserys urged his horse into a canter, Drogo, Daenerys, Jorah, and Qotho not far behind. The rabble of the hoard mounted moments later, their calling and howling in glee signalling their approach. The dragons took little notice, their sights settled on the witch.

Though Viserys had given the witch plenty of time to run, the horses quickly caught up with the stumbling woman. Rhaegal and Marros shrieked in excitement, their wings flapping in preparation for flight.

Marros jumped first, gliding from Viserys’ shoulders and landing on the witch’s upper back. Mirri Maz Durr collapsed forward, unaccustomed to the weight of a dragon, screaming and thrashing wildly to get away from Marros. The dragon, however, easily avoided her limbs whilst seated upon her back. Being weighed down, even by a young dragon, Mirri Maz Durr couldn’t sit up.

Once their prey was on the ground, Rhaegal glided down to join Marros, crawling along the witch’s back. Rhaegal, his demeanour calculating, pinned down one of the witch’s arms and cried for Marros who mirrored the action and pinned the other arm.

Viserys waited, ignoring those further back, eyes intent on his dragons. Having hunted smaller prey, they knew this larger one was something they could eat, given Viserys had granted his permission. Yet, they began by cautiously nipping at her torso and crying to each other. They continued to speak to one another as the blood began to pour from the rips left behind by their teeth, the witch’s flailing sluggish.

They weren’t, however, accustomed to eating live food so they began to release torrents of fire, burning her torso and renewing her shrieks of pain. The process wasn’t particularly swift. Fire ate through the witch’s clothes and hair, blackening her skin until she ceased moving. With twin cries of triumph, Rhaegal and Marros began to eat their prey signalling hollers and cheers from the Dothraki.

“Is the outcome acceptable, Qotho?” Viserys questioned, turning to look at his friend.

The sheer amount of glee on Qotho’s face didn’t need a verbal response.

Viserys waited, watching as the dragons feasted while the Dothraki celebrated a spectacular death. While he was glad Qotho and his small village managed to obtain their revenge against the witch, Viserys grew anxious. With the witch dead, Viserys would need to speak with the Khal and Khaleesi which could have varying outcomes. However, he would face them with all the calm and confidence he would muster.

Dismounting, Viserys approached the dragons, who greeted him with warm chirps. Rhaegal spread his wings and in a single flap, launched himself into Viserys’ waiting arms. Marros followed, sweeping around to perch on Viserys’ shoulders. They hadn’t managed to finish their meal, the corpse left unrecognizable but intact.

“Did they not enjoy the witch?” Qotho asked, staring at the corpse from Viserys’ side.

“Their first taste of human may not have been what they were expecting. Perhaps, they prefer to eat animals, or they may not yet have developed a taste this meal. My father may have spoken at length about dragons and their destructive power, but the basics were lost generations ago. I just need to have care and pay attention to their needs.”

The dragons chirped and Viserys smiled down at them, content to brush his free hand along the head of Rhaegal. Despite their small forms, Viserys knew they would only grow larger should he continue to pay attention to their needs. In a few months, it wasn’t likely he could carry their bulky forms. Instead, they would fly and dance around him, content to be in the sky, until they grew so large, they would dwarf his form.

Within the Red Keep, Viserys knew mighty dragon skulls were held, knew that they could be so large they could swallow a man whole should it please them. He also knew that the most recent were no larger than that of a cat. His father had never managed to keep a dragon alive long enough to get to the size of Marros and Rhaegal. Towards the end, the Mad King hadn’t even cared to continue to try, too filled with rage and spurned on by paranoia.

“It might be better to not get accustomed to human flesh for food.” Qotho admitted, watching the dragons curl around Viserys.

“You are certainly right, my friend.”

Turning, Viserys once again mounted his horse, Qotho following his lead, and waited for the Khal to speak.

“Come.” The Khal beckoned for them to follow with nothing more than a word. Yet, everyone listened.

The Dothraki immediately started to move, preparing to follow their Khal back to their camp. Viserys urged his horse forward, following the Khal and the Khaleesi, beside Jorah and Qotho. The journey back was slower and calmer, but still filled with jubilation that Viserys couldn’t find comfort in. All Viserys wanted was to live through this meeting.

The open tent raised for the Khal and his Khaleesi was basic compared to when they moved leisurely through the Grass Lands. Khal Drogo moved through the tent with all the comfort of being home. As the important members of the Khalasar settled, Viserys stood, knowing this to be more of an inquisition than a comfortable gathering. Qotho remained by his side, standing firm in his support, the dragons curled by their feet.

Daenerys had her hands settled on her abdomin, protecting the child within, staring at the dragons. Many of the Dothraki were overwhelmed with the dragons, eyes not leaving the threat at Viserys’ feet. Only the Khal watched Viserys.

“You returned.”

The Khal, a man of few words for his enemies, focused on the most obvious question.

“Fire can’t kill a dragon.” Viserys explained.

He’d once spoken those same words to his sister, but, they had never meant so much as they did now.

“The molten gold crown you granted me burnt away the madness. I woke in the Grass Lands amongst the stars with a clear mind and the knowledge that my sister despised me so greatly she left my body to rot. A friend aided me, and I recovered, growing, learning, and planning to return to Westeros.”

Daenerys snapped her attention towards her brother.

“You weren’t going to seek me out?”

“I didn’t expect to see you again.” Viserys admitted. “Qotho explained the Khal wouldn’t leave Vaes Dothrak until his child was born. Normally, there would have been plenty of time for me to prepare and plan, but something happened, something changed within your dynamic, and the Khal chose to ride West towards the sea earlier than usual.”

Viserys watched his sister as he spoke. Daenerys’ eyes were full of rage as he indirectly responded to her question. She appeared displeased that he wouldn’t immediately return to her side despite all that had transpired between them. Feeling the need for further clarification, he continued.

“You are happy, and my presence only ever brought you pain. I was content to let you live as you chose, by your husband’s side. If that meant sailing across the Narrow Sea and back towards Westeros without you, then so be it.”

Daenerys settled with his explanation but Viserys could see she still held some lingering hurt at his decision. Yet, this didn’t bother Viserys. His sister was truly happy to live her life here amongst the Dothraki and while Viserys had learnt many things during his time here, it wasn’t home.

“What was your plan to return home?” Jorah questioned.

Violet eyes turned towards the knight but Viserys didn’t respond to the inquiry until the Khal nodded his head, curious as well.

“I know I have allies in Westeros, those that want a Targaryen to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but they are not enough to take back the Iron Throne. I don’t even have enough allies to take Dragonstone. Advice and family are what I need most, so I planned to travel to White Harbour and follow the road to Castle Black.”

At this Jorah frowned, “You would go to the Night’s Watch?”

“There is a Targaryen at the Wall and because the Night’s Watch doesn’t swear any loyalty to the King, anyone can travel there without coming to harm. I desire to speak with him, and the temporary safety provided by the Night’s Watch is appealing.”

Daenerys leaned forward as Viserys mentioned more family just as the Khal frowned.

“What is this Night’s Watch?” the Khal questioned.

“The Night’s Watch was once a grand Order who defended the Wall against the enemy in the North.” Viserys explained. “However, now there are few honourable men positioned there, most are criminals.”

The Khal didn’t comment but something within Viserys description displeased the man. It left Viserys feeling wary, but he wasn’t about to push the boundaries right now. He would be glad if he left this meeting with nothing but these horrid questions answered.

“You planned to leave without my husband’s army?” Daenerys asked.

Viserys laughed. “Your husband doesn’t want to fight for me. The Dothraki hold no interest in fighting for a foreign ruler especially if that ruler is the Cart King. I see no reason to have allies I can’t trust by my side as I return to Westeros. So yes, I plan to leave without a Dothraki hoard.”

There were a few murmurs throughout the tent that Viserys couldn’t hear but it didn’t bother him as to what they said. He spoke the truth when he planned to leave without the Dothraki hoard. The hoard might have been useful, but he could tell they were only loyal to themselves and Viserys found it distasteful to force anyone’s loyalty now that he was sound of mind.

“Will you be accompanied by anyone?”

At Daenerys question, Qotho snarled, stepping forward. “Zhavvorsa has allies that will travel with when he crosses the sea. We are loyal and will not cast him aside.”

Daenerys sat back, startled at Qotho’s outburst.

“Perhaps, we should reconvene tomorrow.” Jorah suggested, noticing the tension beginning to grow between Qotho and his Khaleesi.

The Khal agreed just as Daenerys appeared ready to disagree.

“You are welcome here.”

At the Khal’s welcome, Viserys could only shake his head. It was a generous offer considering he was once an outcast amongst the hoard, but he wouldn’t feel comfortable amongst their number. Not to mention the stares he would receive given the company he now kept.

“Thank you but no, Qotho and the remainder of our party are likely eager to ride back to the village and celebrate the death of the witch.”

Viserys could already picture the people gathered, dancing and cheering in celebration. However, he was eager to be away from the hoard and simply spend a simple night with Rhaegal and Marros. Knowing their interest wasn’t satisfied, any time Viserys could spend in the company of his dragons would be held precious.

“We will join you in the morning.”

The Khal offered it as a statement and Viserys could only offer a tight smile and nod in acceptance.

“Very well. We will see you tomorrow.”

Viserys refused to bid his sister and her warlord husband any other pleasantries, beckoning his dragons into his arms, and simply left the tent before they began to discuss him behind his back.

“I do not like their attention on you, Zhavvorsa.” Qotho admitted as they mounted their horses.

“Neither do I, my friend, but there is no escaping the Dothraki hoard.”

Viserys settled upon his horse, dragons in arms and not bothering to spare a glance back at the Dothraki hoard, rode for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Zhavvorsa= Dragon in Dothraki

**Author's Note:**

> This story can also be found on fanfiction.net


End file.
